


To The Touch

by jamesilver



Series: Drarry Ficlet Requests [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, draco is always cold, ficlet requests, harry is always hot, i honestly don't even know what else to tag lmfao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24151297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesilver/pseuds/jamesilver
Summary: REQUEST: Harry is alway hot and Draco is always cold. And no matter what nothing but each other can warm them up /cool them down.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Drarry Ficlet Requests [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742842
Comments: 13
Kudos: 268





	To The Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted August 22, 2018 but this is it's first time on ao3 and this is where it will remain. It was requested by roseflowerbitch on tumblr.

He had pulled the sofa as close as he dared to the fire. 

It wasn’t like there was anyone else there to see or to judge him, but Draco couldn’t stand the thought of someone seeing him like this. Weak, vulnerable. 

But the need overpowered the possibility of someone walking in to find him wrapped in three blankets, huddling close to the fire in the eighth year common room. 

Ever since the war, Draco had been cold. There was nothing he could find to fix it, and it clearly wasn’t just all in his head. Pansy had remarked that he was “cold to the touch.” Like he was a corpse, lifeless and frozen. The list of possible metaphors was endless: Draco was winter itself; his cold heart had frozen him; he embodied his depression. Pansy had come up with more than enough, laying on his bed, hanging with her head upside down as she laughed at him. She didn’t know that it made him feel broken, so it wasn’t like he could blame her. 

The part that bothered Draco the most about it was that he could  _ never get warm _ no matter what he did. It was so bad that it had started rumors. People were wondering what Draco was trying to hide under his layers of jumpers. They all thought they were so sly, but he always heard them. Living among Death Eaters did teach a person a few things, after all. 

It was the worst at night. What little warmth the world held was shut away, leaving Draco utterly alone. Everyone in his life would lock themselves behind their doors, cozy under their blankets. And Draco’s frost reached his bones. 

But, still, he wouldn’t allow himself to get so desperate as to get off the couch and sit literally directly in front of the fire. He knew that if it got that bad, there may not be anything stopping him from just straight-up reaching out and touching the flames. 

Draco rolled his eyes at how melodramatic he was being, pushing himself further into his mountain of blankets, a shivering blip on the sofa. 

What seemed like only minutes later, Draco jolted awake, not realizing he had even dozed off. In the few minutes, it seemed like the room had gotten even colder and he popped his head out of his blankets to peek up around the back of the sofa. He quickly saw what woke him up. 

Standing in front of an open window was the silhouette of some dumbass who clearly didn’t give two shits about the fact that there may be someone else in the common room. It was cold outside tonight, so what was the idiot trying to do anyway? Get sick? 

Just as Draco was about to stand up and give the arse a piece of his mind, the person shifted, slamming the window shut and drawing the curtain back over it, therefore changing the light and Draco’s breath caught.

It was Potter. 

Sure, leave it to that idiot to open a window at night and get sick. Or, worse, cause Draco to catch cold as a result of his stupidity. 

Then, Potter began walking in his direction and Draco tensed up, wondering if he had been spotted. It wasn’t until the other boy got closer that Draco realized what he was aiming to do: he was going to put out the fire. 

Just as Harry reached his hand out, wand extended, Draco’s own sprung out of the blankets, wrapping his hand around Harry’s wrist.

“Don’t you dare, Pott—!” Draco said, cutting himself off as his skin came into contact with Potter’s. 

Potter stopped too, jumping slightly and turning to look at Draco. For a moment, they both paused, eyes flickering towards where Draco’s hand still rest on Potter’s wrist. 

But that didn’t mean he wanted to move it. Because....Well, because for the first time in months, maybe over a year now, Draco’s fingers were no longer aching in the cold. 

Potter was warm. Hot, even. Practically radiating heat. 

It wasn’t Draco who broke the silence first. He couldn’t. He was too stunned. 

“Draco, you feel...” Potter hesitated. “...dead,” he whispered. 

Eyes still locked on the skin of Harry’s wrist, Draco responded the only way he could. “You’re so warm.” 

Potter shrugged, almost as if he hadn’t paid too much attention to what Draco said. “I’ve always been like that. Can never get cold enough.” 

Without paying attention to Potter’s reaction, without even looking at his face, Draco began moving his fingers up and down Potter’s arm, noting the way little hairs began to raise. 

“Can never get warm,” Draco whispered, mesmerized by what he was feeling. Just one small touch and it was like Draco was melting. 

Potter moved his other hand to cover Draco’s, stilling it, and Draco blinked harshly, looking up at Potter. 

In that small moment, it was like he had forgotten everything. Like why he still insisted on calling the man before him,  _ Potter, _ on distancing himself, despite that Potter now called him Draco. Forgot the war, forgot Potter saving his life, forgot all that he had done wrong. 

For a small moment, he had been warm. 

Draco jerked his hand back, furiously trying to rewrap his blankets around himself, panicking. But before he could get very far with that, Potter was there, on the sofa beside him, saying, “Draco, wait.” 

Pausing, Draco refused to look anywhere but directly at the fire, a lump forming in his throat. He had crossed a line, he had crossed so many lines, how dare  _ he _ the Death Eater, the evil, even  _ think _ of touching  _ Harry Potter _ .

“Let me see your hand?” From the way Potter said it, it was undoubtedly a question, but Draco didn’t question it at all. Already, his fingers were aching to feel that warmth again. 

Slowly, he reached out a hand and Harry’s palm pressed against his, pushing his fingers between Draco’s. Then, with a small tug, Harry drew Draco out of the blankets and moved closer to him. Hesitantly, he wrapped an arm around Draco, pulling him close, Draco’s back against Harry’s chest. 

In a moment of utter relief, Draco sighed, pressing himself against Harry, letting the warmth wrap around him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Please feel free to leave a comment and/ or message me on [ tumblr ](https://www.shelvesuponshelves.tumblr.com)
> 
> I am also currently taking ficlet requests (like this one) on [ tumblr ](https://www.shelvesuponshelves.tumblr.com)


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